Les Etrangers
by Histoire de le Coeur
Summary: The greasers are coming to 1832! Gasp! Only 7 of Les Amis are going to Tulsa! Gasp! And Montparnasse is a sadistic creeper! Well, some things just don't change do they?
1. Ponyboy's a Mizzy!

**Disclaimer: I don't own The Outsiders nor do I own Les Miserables.**

**Please like this! and Review!**

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"Il dort. Quoique le sort fut pour lui bien etrange. Il vivait. Il mourut quand il n'eut plus son ange. La chose simplement d'elle-meme arriva. Comme la nuit se fait lorsque le jour s'en va." Ponyboy read aloud, from the last page of the over-1,000-page novel, 'Les Miserables.'

_Now, what the hell does that mean?_ At the bottom of the page, he realized that there was a small translation.

"Oh, okay…"And he read out loud again. "He is asleep, though his mettle was sorely tried. He lived, and when he lost his angel, died. It happened quickly, on its own, the way night comes when day is done."

"That don't rhyme," accused a familiarly timid voice from the front door. "At least the last two lines don't." Johnny Cade, hair in his eyes, walked in over to where Ponyboy sat, on the couch. Leaning over his shoulder to look at this brick-of-a-book his friend had, Johnny said,

"Damn, Pony, you finished that book already?" Pony nodded. Johnny's jaw dropped in awe. "Man, that'd take me my whole life and afterwards to read."

Ponyboy laughed. "Well, it was one tuff book. I didn't always understand it sometimes; had to go to the library to find out who this 'Robespierre' Hugo kept talking about was, but I still liked it."

Johnny sighed. "Then it probably didn't have no greasers or Socs, to be a tuff book."

Smiling and nodding, Ponyboy replied, "No, no greasers or Socs or nothing. But there were this group of guys, kind of like us I guess, but they were fighting to overthrow their king and get a Republic. They believed in Liberty, Equality, and Fraternity…Pretty cool motto right? And…"

Pony, on a roll now, began to get really animated in his description of the Friends of the ABC and their plans. He was flailing his hands around, and using words like "sublime" and "juxtaposition."

Poor little Johnnycake tried to listen, he really did, but a bunch of, probably gay, Frenchies fighting for, as Pony said "Liberty, Equality and Fraternity", was not exactly attention-grabbing.

_Dally?_ Johnny thought desperately, hoping to reach Dally telepathically._ Two-Bit? Anyone who'll shut him up about, whoever the hell, Bonaparte is?!_

Today was Johnny's lucky day.

"Jeez, Pony, what's that you're going off about now?" yelled Two-Bit from the Curtis's front yard. "I could hear you from down the block!" Bursting through the screen door, about as subtle as a kid on a sugar rush, beer in hand, he knocked 'Les Miserables' right out of Pony's grasp. Ponyboy whimpered faintly as it landed with a thump. Looking at the frowning little French girl on the front cover, Two-Bit snickered and asked Pony, "That your new girl? Seems a bit glum to me. What's her name?" Playfully, he punched Pony's right shoulder, as Pony knelt down to pick up the book. He half-answered, in a whisper, "Cosette."

**

That night, Ponyboy wrote a letter to his one true authoress, S.E. Hinton.

_Dear Ms. Hinton,_

_As you may know, I've recently finished 'Les Miserables' by Victor Hugo. I was thinking if maybe, us, greasers, could switch places with them, the Friends of the ABC. I've heard of it happening in other fandoms! The seven of us would switch places with seven of them, and two of them would stay in 1832. You know, to show us the ropes or something. This letter definitely sounds crazy, but please give it some thought._

_Yours until copyright expires,_

_Ponyboy Curtis_

_**_

The next day's mail, for once, did not bring anymore trouble for Darry. It brought excitement to Ponyboy, and maybe more trouble to all of our greasers.

_Dear Ponyboy, _

_I love your idea! This is why I gave you the creativity and brains. If Dally had them, well…you're the artistic one, use that imagination. Anyway, I've worked out something with Monsieur Hugo, who seemed oddly delighted to be rid of seven characters for a while. Something like, "Why did I screw over their lives so badly? Now, all they do is complain!" But yes, Dally and Bahorel will switch, Darry and Combeferre will switch, Soda and Courfeyrac will switch, Johnny and Joly will switch, Two-Bit and Grantaire will switch, Steve and Feuilly will switch, and you and Jehan will switch. Enjolras and Bossuet will stay behind and "show you the ropes." Oh, this is so exciting!_

_Stay Gold,_

_S.E. Hinton_

Outside the sun was setting and, grinning widely Pony thought, _I wonder how Jehan can see the sun setting in Paris._

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**Please tell me what you think!!!**


	2. Montparnasse gets owned again

**Disclaimer: If I owned Les Miz, I'd wouldn't be typing this because I'd be in an insane asylum, because I would be haunted by Victor Hugo's angry ghost. I don't own the Outsiders because I'm simply not _that_ awesome.**

**Methinks Chapter 2 will satitifyeth thou more than the beslubbering Chapter 1.**

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_Location: Back room of the Cafe Musain in Paris, France Time: About 10 p.m Happening: Whatta ya know? Dear ole Enjolras is on his table making a speech...._

"Citizens, yes you as well Grantaire, know how great this chance is! With futuristic 'greasers' to help Bossuet and I here the Republic shall draw near!" Our Fearless Leader shouted.

Abruptly looking up from a letter he'd received from one Ponyboy Curtis, Jehan exclaimed, "That rhymed!" Patronizingly, Combeferre pat him on the shoulder.

"Yes, Jehan that did rhyme." Turning to face Enjolras once more, he said, "Yes, and we seven are going because-"

"Because Two-Bit Matthews wrote that future girls are even easier than the grisettes of the Place Cambrai!" Courfeyrac ever so rudely interrupted, waving Two-Bit's letter to R around, triumphantly. Bahorel stood up, aghast.

"Well..." He glanced back at his letter from Dally. "Dallas Winston wrote that too!" Courfeyrac nodded.

"Yes, but Dallas Winston rolls drunks for fun."

"Speaking of that," said Feuilly, finished with Steve's letter, glanced over at Grantaire's slumped over body, "why have we never rolled him for anything?"

"Maybe because-" Enjolras began, maybe a tad haughtily. Grantaire though finished the sentence for him, mumbling most of it.

"'Cause there's nothing to roll me for." After a slight murmur of agreement from the Friends, Enjolras began again.

"Has everyone finished reading their letters?" He asked, referring to the little intro-letters everyone, but he and Bossuet, had received from the gang. A decidedly unenthusiastic chorus of "Yes" replied. Enjolras continued. "Have you all written your own to them?" Another chorus of monotonous "Yes"'s answered. "Then give them to me, and I'll hand them off to that gamin, Gavroche, who'll give them to Monsieur Hugo."

"Why can't you do it yourself, Monsieur le Smoothface?" called Gavroche's energetic voice from behind the back room's door. Bossuet leaped up to open the door, but before he made it there, he tripped over a chair leg. Before he completely crashed to the floor, his hand reached the doorknob. Using the doorknob as leverage to pull himself up, he finally opened the door for the hyper Gavroche. Obviously, Gavroche's energy enabled him to run right into the room, knocking Bossuet over again.

"Every time." Bossuet muttered, laughing.

"I can't do it myself, because I have business to attend to." Enjolras informed Gavroche, jumping down from the table, landing catlike on his two feet. Taking a watch from his fob, he said, "Which I _should _be attending to now." Putting the watch back, he went around collecting the Friends' letters to the "greasers." He looked suspiciously at Grantaire's, seeing the pheases 'blond man' and 'hell from me' written in it. Quickly he shot the drunkard a glare, and handed the letters to Gavroche, whispering to him secretly, "Don't be afraid if you...ah, _accidentally _drop Grantaire's letter in the Seine." He winked one blue eye at the little boy and discreetly slipped him a silver 5-franc piece.

"Sure," Gavroche said, sarcastically, patting Enjolras's shoulder, like Combeferre had Jehan. Then, he turned around and skipped, with an almost Cockney liveliness, out the door saying, "_Au revoir! Mes momes_ are probably waiting for me!"

When he was out of that room, which he dubbed "_La Maison a la Revolution"_, he stopped in the main room of the Cafe.

_I wonder what Monsieur le Smoothface's "business" is?_ Letting his curiosity rule him, Gavroche tucked the letters into his oversized coat, and went outside. He stepped to the side of the door, flattened himself against the wall, and then slid down onto the pavement. In his best crouching position, he hid his face in his coat and tried his best to look like some old beggar. Cold city wind nipped at his nose, but he was not discouraged. Passerby looked down their noses at him; he saluted them by sticking out his tongue._ Where is he?_

Yelling began to float into Gavroche's alert ears. It sounded like men fighting. What else was new? At first, Gavroche paid no attention to it. This was Paris; not one night went by with out some people squabbling. But now the voices seemed familiar. Both were his friends of sorts, and older. One of the men was indisputably Enjolras. He listen closer.

He heard Enjolras say, "The Friends of the ABC will never be in league with Patron-Minette."

_Patron-Minette?_ Gavroche thought. Being his clever self, he put two and two together and realized that the other man had to be..._Montparnasse!_

Montparnasse replied cooly, but still loudly. Apparently, he couldn't afford to lose face, as it sounded to Gavroche. "You hate authority as much as we do. You, too, would relish in its demise."

"We hate the regime, not authority, and I'm certain that we want it more than you." Gavroche smirked to himself. Enjolras was showing some real spine there. Montparnasse would not falter though.

"We want it-" He started, but Enjolras was quicker.

"You want it for yourselves; not for the people, not for_ notre patrie_! You don't care about the Republic. All you care about is getting the more fashionable waistcoat." Gavroche was about to laugh, because this, lucky for him, this wasn't the first time he'd 'seen' Montparnasse humiliated. There was a loud thump, sounding like a body being slammed against a wall. To Gavroche's surprise, though somehow he knew it would be, Montparnasse who strode out of the side alley, next to the Cafe Musain, triumphant. Gavroche made himself look inconspicous, not attracting any attention to himself, for the first time in a while. But, Montparnasse was taking his time walking down the street, whistling an oddly cheery tune, shining his knife with a handkerchief. The handkerchief turned red.

When "that damn dandy", in the words of Gavroche, was finally out of sight, he crept into the alley and saw Enjolras, slumped against the alley wall. Blood had dripped from the top of his right shoulder, in a straight line, down to his palm. The tips of his blond hair, his shirt, and now Gavroche's wooden shoes were doused in it. It was like looking at a dying angel or god. His golden head rose up slowly, and his glassy blue eyes bored into the boy's.

"Get those letters to Monsieur Hugo." He said slowly. "I'm fine." Gavroche was skeptical. "Go!" Gavroche ran.

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**O.o**


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